A Crime of Love
by jessedesilvaismyhero
Summary: Taliya has one chance at an unforgettable summer when she falls head over heals in love with her 24-year-old neighbor as she works for him.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Taliya, I think you should get a job this summer." That was the first thing my mom said to me when I walked in the door after my last day of school. She was holding a crying baby, Gregory, I think.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you don't have anything to do this summer. And you could really use the work ethic and responsibility. Plus, I wouldn't mind having some financial help around here." I really couldn't argue with that, because things had been a little tight lately.

My parents run a foster home; they've done it for as long as I can remember. I'm their only actual child. After my mom had me, my parents wanted to have another kid, but there was a problem and the doctors told them that they couldn't have any more kids. Adoption was too expensive for my dad's police officer salary, but both of my parents had wanted a really big family, so they decided to help children in need of homes and started a foster care home.

"I guess I can at least look for one," I sighed. There went my summer freedom, but that was okay. I told myself that it would not be the worst thing in the world to have a little extra cash to spend at the mall.

My mom turned and started walking toward the kitchen, stepping over piles of toys as she went. Kids were screaming in the background. "Oh and," she turned around to face me, "our new neighbor is coming over tonight for dinner, so you might want to freshen up. You know, look presentable. He's a professor at the state university."

Great, I thought. Why did my parents always have to invite old people over for dinner? That usually meant that I would be stuck looking after all eight kids while the adults talked about the economy or something. I trudged up the stairs to my bedroom. Haley was sitting on my bed playing with her pigtails.

Haley is probably my favorite foster sibling. She is seven years old and the cutest girl you've ever seen. She has dirty blond hair, big and bright blue eyes, and almost no teeth. Her story is so sad. Her mom died giving birth to her, but her dad was mentally ill and put into an asylum when she was five. She has very violent memories of him beating her, and she has had to go to intense psychotherapy since we got her. It's amazing that she still smiles.

"Hey, Hales. Whatcha doin?" I asked her playfully.

"I was waiting for you to come in."

"Why?"

"Becaaaaaaauuuuuuse."

"Because what, silly goose?"

"I want you to put those French braids in my hair, for tonight. Faith told us that a man was coming over and that we should dress up nice." Faith is my mom's name. She doesn't let the kids call her "mom" even though most of them do naturally anyway.

"Alright take your pigtails out. Let me go get a comb." I spent the next half hour doing Haley's hair and helping her pick out an outfit. We decided on a black dress with bright pink leggings. Haley has a kind of off style, but it's spunky and works for her. I think that's what I like most about her.

Finally, after I finished with her, I was able to focus on myself. I sat down in front of my vanity in my bedroom. Looking at me through the mirror was a brown-haired green-eyed mess. I had done way too much celebrating the end of my junior year. I re-applied my makeup: cover-up, eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. Then I threw my hair into a bun. It was messy, but not to messy. It looked effortless, but professional. I wanted to look good, because this guy was a college professor and the state university was one of the places I was planning on applying to. I slipped into a navy blue, knee length skirt. I put on a light blue shirt and topped it with a crisp, white blazer. Then I went into my mom's closet and grabbed some flats to wear. I was ready to go.

For the next hour and a half I helped my mom get the kids ready while she started dinner. My dad got home at 5:45, and our guest of honor was showing up at six-thirty. My dad and I rushed to get the house cleaned up, putting toy after toy away, but by six-fifteen, things were looking bleak.

"I need all kids to come downstairs right now!" yelled my dad up the steps. Suddenly 16 little feet raced down the stairs. Everyone lined up like they were in the army, I couldn't help but laugh. "Everyone needs to do their share of chores today, so I need everyone to pick up the toys." A cluster of groans came out.

Matty stepped forward and in his timid little voice said, "But I didn't make no mess." That got everyone talking about they didn't make a mess either. My dad just stood there, not really knowing what to do, so I figured it was my cue.

"Hey! You guys, zip it." Eight pairs of eyes looked up at me. Then I yelled, "If-you-guys-get-all-the-toys-picked-before-our-new-neighbor-gets-here-you-all-get-extra-dessert!" Then it was like mass-cleaning-chaos and by the time Mr. Hughes knocked on the front door, the house was spotless. My mom had us all sit in the living room, wiped her hands on her apron, and opened the door. That was the first time I saw Zackary Hughes.

_Oh, shit_, I thought. He was gorgeous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

When you think of college professors, you think of old, fat, and ugly. You definitely do NOT think of 24-year-old, messy brown hair, and insanely physically fit. Well, that's what this college professor was. I took him in as soon as he walked in: worn khakis, wrinkly button-up shirt, loosened tie, cologne.

"Thanks for having me for dinner, Faith and Jack," he said. Oh my god, his voice was like, really sexy. I knew that I would have a problem on my hands. He smiled. I'm pretty sure my heart skipped a beat and did a flip.

"Let me introduce the children," said my dad. He went down the line of kids and introduced every one. Zack (was I allowed to call him that?) bent down so he was face to face with them and shook their hands. It was the sweetest thing ever. When my dad got to me, I stood up, and tried to keep my cool. "This is Taliya," he said. "She's our actual daughter. She's seventeen."

He smiled and looked me straight in the eye. My heart jumped. "Nice to meet you," he said as he grabbed my hand.

"Nice to meet you, too." My hand was still tingling after he let go.

"Actually, Taliya is looking for a job this summer," said my mom. "Maybe you know a position on campus?" God, could she be any more embarrassing? I could feel myself blushing, I wanted to hide my face in shame.

"Actually, I might have one." I looked up at him. God, he was like 6'3". I was so not used to guys being that much taller than me at 5'8". "If you can do simple filing tasks I'll be more than happy to hire you."

I opened my mouth to say no thanks, I didn't think I would be able to keep myself away from him if I worked right there, but before I could say anything, my mom jumped in. "She'll take it," my mom said. I shrugged and smiled.

"Great," he said. "Can you start tomorrow?" I nodded.

Dinner was a disaster, I couldn't help but stare at him, and he totally caught me like eighty times. He left right after dessert. On his way out the door he said, "I'll stop by at ten tomorrow to pick you up, Taliya." For the rest of the night I pictured him saying my name, Taliya.

I woke up to my alarm the next morning at eight. I know, it was summer and I was supposed to sleep in, but I had to look decent for the guy. I may not have had a chance with him, because it was illegal or whatever, but I could at least make the guy pine quietly. I wore my dark skinny jeans with the big hole in the knee and a purple top that showed off my body in a non-whorish way. I'm not going to lie; I have a pretty good body. Like the whole 36, 24, 36 thing. Well, that's me. Not to mention my ridiculously long legs and my toned arms from carrying kids around all day.

I straightened my hair and pieced it around so my side-swept bangs were perfect in the effortless way and put on makeup. At 9:30 I made myself a bagel and at 10:00 I was getting into the car with Mr. Hughes. I was so nervous.

"Morning, Taliya," he said to me.

"Good morning, Mr. Hughes," I said, kind of timidly.

"You don't have to call me that, you know," he said. "Just call me Zack." I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just sat there. "So, I'm just going to give you a quick tour of the campus, just in case I need you to run any errands for me, and then I'll get you started on filing my student's artwork."

"Wait, you teach art?" I asked, a bit shocked. I thought he taught something boring, like English.

"Yeah, of course. Why?" he said.

"Nothing, that's just what I want to major in when I go to college."

"Aren't you a little young to be thinking about what you want to major in?" he asked me.

"Hey!" I said, teasingly. "I'm going to be a senior. Besides, are you ever to young to find your passion?"

"Ah, touché," he said. God, I could tell this was going to be an amazing summer.

He gave me the tour of the campus and then sent me to work while he was teaching a class. All I had to do was find the students' names in the filing cabinet and put their art inside the folder. Occasionally Zack's art was mixed in, in which case I would set it on the desk. He was good, really good. I got to listen to all of his classes, too. He seemed like a really great professor, he was constantly making the students laugh. It made my heart ache in a way, just because I knew I could never have him.

What killed me most was that I had never been this weird about guys before. I've dated my share of boys, but none of them made me feel like this. And I wasn't even dating the guy! It was the weirdest thing ever, but I kind of liked it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

At noon, Zack came into his office. "Are you hungry? It's my lunch break, and if you want, we can grab a bite to eat." I didn't know what to say to this. For one thing, my mom had packed me a lunch. For another, I simply had no idea if this was a "date" or if he was just offering to take me to lunch to be nice.

"Well?" he asked. I realized I had been sitting there silent for over a minute, and felt my cheeks turn red for the umpteenth time since I'd met him.

"Why not?" I said. Anything was better than the peanut butter and jelly sandwich my mom had made.

Five minutes into the car ride, the silence was killing me. I had to say something. "Umm," I said. "Your art was mixed in with some of the students, so I just set it on your desk." _Crap_. I thought. I was supposed to say something cool and mysterious.

"What did you think?" Zack asked.

"Of your art?"

"Yes…"

"Oh, umm," I blushed. "It's really good."

"I thought you were an artist," he said.

"What? I am an artist!"

"Prove it. My strengths and my weaknesses, what are they?"

I thought back to the paintings and sketches I handled so carefully. "Your strengths. Hmm. Well I noticed that your brush strokes were very articulate in your paintings with acrylics, but in your water colors they were looser, which depicts what you want the painting to say, and they matched perfectly. And you are really good with perspectives and negative space. I guess your only weakness is that your scale is a little off."

"That's my style, strange scale. I like it that way."

"Oh. Okay." I sat there for a minute. "So was I able to prove to you that I'm a legit artist?" I asked. It was important that he had a good opinion of me. Even if we could never be together, I still wanted him to like me.

"Yes. Your terminology is impeccable," he said, randomly putting on a British accent. This may sound dorky, but it made me laugh. And it felt really good to hear him say that he considered me an artist, even if I hadn't showed him any of my work.

We arrived at the restaurant a few minutes later. There were no other cars in the parking lot, which made me a little apprehensive. When we got to the door, he held it open for me. "After you," he said. It was definitely a date.

I walked into a dimly lit, somewhat dingy restaurant. It was small, with only a couple tables and chairs, and fewer than ten booths lining the walls. I got the feeling no one had been in the place for a while, the only waitress was sitting at the bar doodling on the order sheet with crayons. "Seat yourself," she said.

I waited for Zack to go ahead and pick a table. He chose a booth in a discreet corner of the room. Seconds later, the waitress walked over smacking her gum and gave us both menus then walked away.

"Order whatever you want," Zack said. "It's on me." I scanned the menu. It was mostly sandwiches and salads. Probably the only things that this place could afford to make. After another awkward period of time passed, I started to think of things I could say, but my mind was on something else at the time. The booth was tiny and both of us were really tall, meaning that our legs were smashed up against each other, and he hadn't attempted to readjust his legs in over a minute. Luckily, he beat me to the talking part.

"So what's your style? Of art?" he asked.

"I mostly do pastels and sketches of surrealism. I get my inspiration from the dreams I have at night."

"Surrealism. Huh. Have you ever thought of doing expressionism? Most of my students that enjoy surrealism really like expressionism. I believe it's because they are both based on emotional connections," he said.

"I tried it once in my art class, but I had trouble with it. I could never think of something to paint. I ended up making one off of a photograph in a magazine. I don't think it turned out very well."

"In my experience with expressionism," Zack started, "I usually come to find that the best paintings come from the heart, not the brain. Your heart tells the painting exactly what expression to use, because it handles the emotions. I could help you if you want me to. After classes you could use the easels."

"If I couldn't think of something to paint then, what makes you think I'll be able to think of a subject now?" I asked.

Zack leaned in so his face was about three inches from mine. "We're just going to have to search your heart."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A minute later, Zack got up to go to the bathroom. I strummed my fingers on my knee while I waited for him to get back. Why do guys always spend so much time in the bathroom? I always seem to notice this when I'm out to dinner with my dad or if I'm with some guy on a date. It always seemed the worst when I was left alone to sit at a restaurant's table. It's hard to keep your mind on light things when you were just participating in a very deep and meaningful conversation. I turned my head to realize that the waitress was standing there with our sandwiches. I suddenly wondered how long she had been standing there; I hadn't noticed her walking toward me.

"Where's your date?" she asked as she set the sandwiches on the table.

"Oh, he's um, he's not my date," I said.

"God damnit!" the waitress, Holly, according to her nameplate, said. I looked around, but she hadn't spilled or dropped anything. "That guy hasn't had a date in over a year, and then he comes in with you, giving me a little bit of hope that he's moved on, but apparently not." She sighed in obvious frustration.

"What?!" I asked. "How do you know he hasn't had a date?"

"I'm his frickin sister. I would know." It took me a minute to digest this. They didn't seem related. She had to be at least forty years old, and had bleach blonde hair. And what did she say about moving on? When I asked Holly, she replied, "You know, his wife. The one that left him for another woman?" My mind raced. He had a wife, who left him for another woman? The "relationship" we had was complicated enough to begin with, but then some sister named Holly had to drop this bomb.

"So you're definitely not his date?" Truth is, that question had been running through my mind since he offered to take me to lunch, but because I didn't know the actual answer, I just went with the one that was appropriate.

"No. I'm seventeen. He's my boss."

"Ohhh. You're that girl he hired. Okay." Holly left the table just as Zack was returning. We ate our sandwiches in silence for a while. After taking his last bite, Zack spoke.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I can't believe that Holly is your sister," I said, even though that wasn't the truthful answer to his question. The real reason I was looking at him strangely was because I couldn't believe his wife had left him for another woman. I can't imagine leaving someone as gorgeous as he was, even if I wasn't attracted to men, I'm pretty sure I would stay with him anyway.

"Oh yeah, half sister. We're kinda the opposite ends of the spectrum. Never really got along. She doesn't agree with a lot of the decisions I make."

"Like what?" I asked, hoping that maybe he would confess to me about his wife.

"Well, for starters, she doesn't agree with my career. You know, some lowly professor at a state university. It's a job that pays close to nothing. She really shouldn't be talking, but I can't tell her that, because she lost her job as a lawyer years ago. She always says that artists are never happy and can't make enough money to support a family." He sighed. It was obvious that he was thinking about his wife, which stirred up some jealousy in me, but at the same time made me feel bad for him. I hated to see him upset, but I knew I couldn't console him, because that would just make me fall for him even more.

"Well. I guess I feel your pain. About the whole artist thing. My parents want me to do something productive. In fact, my dad started talking to me about being a real estate agent."

Zack laughed. "I remember my parents wanted me to be a"-just then his watch started beeping. "Oh, wow, I can't believe it's already been an hour. It's time to go back, I have a class in fifteen minutes."

The car ride back was pretty quiet. We mainly exchanged small talk, our favorite colors, favorite artists, favorite music. It was nothing compared to our earlier conversations, but I enjoyed getting to know him. He was a pretty cool guy considering he was seven years older than I was. I did agree to stay after a little while with him, so he could teach me some new methods, which I was pretty pumped for. I went to a public school that averaged thirty five students per class, which meant that I didn't get a lot of one on one time with the art teacher.

After four more hours of sorting through various piles of artwork, it was finally time for my lesson. I walked into the big, open classroom. On one wall were works of art, tons of them, each one with a caption underneath: the artist's name and title of the art. Zack's best students got to hang their art on the wall. On the opposite end of the room were rows of seats and tables. They were lined up like bleachers, several on the bottom with stairs leading to the ones on top. On another wall was a giant whiteboard, covered in writing about brushstrokes and art theories and other art topics. In the middle of the room were the easels, in a circle, and a spot in the middle for a subject to draw. The rest of the space in the room was filled with various art supplies: every type of paint, oil pastels, charcoal, pencils, photographs, everything. I walked into the middle of the room, chose an easel, and started to get my paint ready.

"What are you doing?" Zack asked me.

I looked around, thinking the answer to his question was quite obvious. "I'm getting ready to start painting," I said.

"Did you not hear me earlier?" Zack laughed. I liked his laugh, it was warm but very sexy. "We have to search your heart: figure out what you have an attachment to and how to depict it in your painting." He led me over to a desk. I sat down. He sat down at the desk next to mine and scooted it closer so we were only inches apart. "So," he said facing me. I could smell his breath. It was minty. "What's on your mind?"

What was on my mind? I had a pretty good idea, but considering it was him, I made something up. "My, um… my foster siblings."

"Oh, right. I forgot your parents run a foster home. How do you feel about your siblings?" Forget artist, the man was starting to sound like a therapist.

"They're okay," I said reluctantly. "I don't really know what to say about them. I don't talk about them much with my friends."

"Having so many kids must take a really big financial toll on your family," Zack said.

"Yeah," I said. My brain started racing with all the things I wanted to tell him. "I mean, I'm really proud of my parents for being so giving, but at the same time I wish I was an only child. I don't mean to sound selfish, but I don't get any money to do anything, I never get new clothes, and I crave attention from my parents. They're both too busy to ever ask me how school is, or how my friends are. They don't notice if I'm struggling in a class, or if I'm sick. My dad has long hours as it is, and when he comes home, my mom begs him for help with the kids, so it's really hard. I remember when I was just a kid, how close our family was. I want it to be that way again, but I also want my foster siblings to be safe and happy." I was absolutely shocked about how much I had just told Zack, I never opened up to people like that.

"You mean you want them to be adopted by other families?" he asked.

"Yeah, I do. Like this one girl we've had for a few months. Her name is Haley, she was put into the system at five. Her story is remarkable, and she is so strong for what she's been through. I feel so bad, because I'm upset about not getting enough money, but her mom was some homeless woman, and her dad was mentally ill. Her mom didn't want to have to take care of her at birth, so she left Haley with her dad. His illness made him very violent towards her, and she still has memories of him beating her. I just can't imagine." I kept confiding in Zack like he was my best friend, and before I knew it; I was crying.

Zack stood up and pulled me into his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder for a minute. Soon enough I was wiping the last of my tears away. "You know," he said. "The good thing about being an artist is that you don't always have to do your job." I laughed and sat back down. "I feel bad that you just told me all of that for nothing," Zack said, "so you can ask me anything you want, and I'll give you an honest answer." He smiled and winked at me. I think my heart skipped a beat.

"I don't know," I said. There was a lot I wanted to know about him, but something in the back of my mind kept reminding me that he was a lot older than I was, and it would be weird to talk about his personal life.

"Come on," he said, "there must be something you want to ask."

"Hm. Well, Holly told me something interesting. She said you were married." I sat back and waited for him to respond. He didn't. Instead he just looked down. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset."

Zack looked me straight in the eye. "I didn't mean to make you upset either, but I did. I guess it's only fair if I tell you about it. You would probably find out eventually, working so close." He paused for a minute, took a deep breath, and said, "Her name was Elysabeth. Lyssy, everyone called her. We got married right out of high school. I kind of pushed it, because I really loved her. She was going away to college in the fall, but my only choice was community college, I was never really good at the whole school thing. I feared that when she went away, she would meet another man who would sweep her off her feet. So we got married that summer, and I moved with her to California so she could attend Stanford. I went to the community college there."

"Why did you get divorced?" I asked.

"I don't think you're old enough to really understand."

I sat there for a minute. It felt like he just threw a dagger at my heart. If he didn't think I was mature enough to understand why a relationship ended, he might not think I was mature to be in a relationship with. That's when it really hit me; that I wanted to be with him.

"Sorry," he said, looking down. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to make you feel immature." I sighed. It was like he read my mind. It was time to come clean.

"Holly already told me. She said she left for another woman."

Zack looked up at me, and for a second I thought he was going to cry. Now I was the one throwing daggers. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. She did."

"You still love her, don't you?" I asked. I knew what the answer was, but I sincerely hoped that he would say no. I wanted him to love me.

"I think so. I think about her less everyday, especially now when I'm with y-." He stopped, and guilt filled his eyes. At that moment everything in me told me to kiss him.

So I did.


End file.
